They were close enough now to clearly see Nythyx Thunderstaff's slim lips draw into a tight line. The young noblewoman stared down at them, pale and trembling with rage, and said, 'Yes. With Xuzoun, I wielded power and influence. Great lords poured me their best wines in hopes of gaining just the slaves they desired. You've ended that, you three, and will pay for doing so. This I swear.'
'I've heard of consorts that fathers disapprove of,' Mirt rumbled, 'but lass, lass, how could ye be so foolish?'
'Foolish?' Nythyx shrieked, thrusting forth the scepters she held to point almost straight down at their upturned faces. 'Foolish? Who's the fool here, Old Wolf?' She triggered both blast scepters.
Asper had been muttering something under her breath-and at that moment the catwalk bucked and broke apart as the blast star she'd left behind on it obediently exploded.
'Ye are, if ye know no better than to let us walk right up when ye had the power to torch us all,' Mirt told Nythyx as the young noblewoman tumbled helplessly down, down to the cobbles at their feet. Futile lightnings sputtered forth to scorch the buildings on either side, but found no way to slow her killing fall.
Or-nearly killing fall. A scant few feet above the stones, Durnan rushed forward, leapt high to meet her, and cradled her deftly in his arms, crashing down into a crouch that took the force of her descent.
Nythyx stared at him for one astonished moment. Her face twisted, and she raised the one scepter she'd managed to hang on to, aiming at his face. The tavernmaster, however, brought one expert fist down across her chin in a swipe that left her slack-jawed and senseless.
Durnan watched the winking and sputtering scepter fall slowly from her hand. When it clattered on the cobbles, he kicked it to Asper, looked for a moment at the now-empty face of the woman in his arms, then swung her onto his shoulder for the long carry back to her father's arms in Waterdeep. Just what, he wondered, was he going to tell Lord Thunderstaff…?
Rubies caught his eyes as her long, ostentatious earrings dangled down beside his chest. Durnan stared at them, shook his head, and said wearily, 'I'm getting too old for this. What a day!'
Mirt shrugged as one of his arms found its way around Asper's shoulders. 'Eh? What say ye? 'Twas a bit of a slow day in Skullport, I'd say!'
The words had scarce left his mouth when the front of a nearby building burst with a flash and roar out into the alley, shattering shutters across the way and sending another catwalk into dancing collapse. Flashing fingers of blue-white fire spat from the curling smoke of the riven building even before the flung stones of its walls had finished falling. On those fiery fingers were borne two writhing bodies.
The three Lords of Waterdeep watched the pair struggling vainly against the magic. They were women of greater age and much more lush beauty than either Asper or Nythyx-beauty revealed through the tatters of their smouldering robes. They shrieked past the three lords, pulled in a sharp curve along the front of a butcher shop, and continued on down the alley, propelled by the raging magic that held them captive.
The lords turned to watch, in time to see a black flame rise suddenly into being along one wall, partway down the alley. It was a dancing shadow without fuel or heat, which seemed neither to die nor rise higher, but merely to continue.
From behind its concealing veil, Transtra watched a shadowy hand rise from the cobbles behind Mirt's boot, deftly close on the forgotten blast scepter-which lay fallen and still sparking feebly on the cobbles-and draw it down through the solid stone. A moment later, the hand reappeared beside her and offered her the scepter.
'You see? Patience does bring rewards,' Halaster murmured. The lamia noble looked at him in wonderment, then at the scepter, and slowly stretched forth her hand for it. The wizard smiled thinly. 'There's no trap, take it.'
Transtra regarded him, eyes unreadable. 'Why have you given me this?'
Eyes as black as a starless night looked back into hers. 'I have few friends, Lady, and I'd like to gain another-as you gained yonder moneylender.'
Transtra looked at the two sorceresses clawing and sobbing against the unknown magic that was carrying them inexorably down the alley, drew in a deep breath, looked back at Halaster, and stretched forth her other hand.
'I'm willing to gain one, too,' she said steadily, and the smile that answered her was like a wave of warm spiced wine that carried her along unresisting.
The wizard replied, 'Then trust me, and come.'
Cool black fingers closed on hers, and drew her toward the wall, into the chill embrace of the stones. Transtra swallowed, closed her eyes, and kept firm hold of the fingers that took her on, into silence, away from the alley.
The black flame along one side of the alley was suddenly gone as if it had never been, revealing a dirty stone wall broken by one dark, open window. As the two struggling sorceresses flew past that spot, their splendid bodies wriggled, lengthened-and turned warty and green.
'Trolls?' Asper asked, frowning.
Her two companions nodded.
The forcibly transformed women plunged across the ruins into darkness, tumbling in the grip of the magic that propelled them.
A moment later, on the far side of the great cavern whence they'd gone, two gigantic orbs blazed open, and a thunderous voice rumbled, 'Who dares-?'
There followed rumblings that shook even so large a cavern as this, which marked the stirring of a huge, long-quiescent body. Something larger than several buildings rose up on the far side of the ruins.
As the black dragon raised its scaly bulk higher than the roofs of Skullport, to glare down the alley, Asper whispered something over the Netherese scepter. A nimbus of blue-and-gold fire surrounded her hand. 'Touch me, both of you,' she said, 'and bring the not-so-noble lady's hand against mine.'
Durnan touched Nythyx's limp hand to Asper's, and she whispered something. The scepter began to whine and pulse, brighter at each flare.
'What have ye done, las'?' Mirt rumbled.
'Used this thing to power the little carry-stone you gave me, so as to whisk us all back to Mirt's Mansion,' she replied. As she spoke, the familiar blue mists of teleportation began to rise and swirl all around them. Asper smiled and turned her head to face Durnan. 'I must agree with my lord,' she said sweetly to the tavernmaster. 'A slow day, in truth.'
'May there be many more of them,' Durnan said, breathing his heartfelt wish.
The dragon's charge made the stony pave of the alley buckle and heave under their boots.
The mists rushed up to claim them, spinning them back to a place where there'd be a fire and a warm bathing pool, ready wine… and no dragons. What more could a retired adventurer ask for?
Those who like to know their players, and have searched in vain for a program, take heart-and hearken! The bold players featured in the preceding escapade are as follows:
ALDON: The strongest and most slow-witted of a trio of human thieves who style themselves the Masked Mayhem, Aldon and his comrades hold absolute rule over about six yards' worth of two alleys in Skullport.
ASPER: The onetime ward of Mirt the Moneylender, I who rescued her as a young child from the ruins of a burning city, Asper has become his ladylove, sword companion, and (all too often) rescuer. A deadly, acrobatic swordswoman, she was the real brains of the stalwart adventuring band known as the Four-and is now I one of the real brains among the Lords of Waterdeep. I Mirt loves her more than life itself-and several score I of city guardsmen dream of her kisses… in vain, of course (sigh).
DURNAN: This laconic, unruffled, weather-beaten I man is well known in Waterdeep as the master of the Yawning Portal, that famous tavern whose taproom holds the entrance to the vast and deep dungeon of Undermountain. Durnan's thews, fearless manner, and cool handling of belligerent adventurers have won him admiring glances from young ladies. Few, however, know that this burly philosopher was once an adventurer, whose blade let sunlight into the innards of more monsters of Faerun than several dozen chartered adventuring companies combined. A onetime member of the Four, Durnan is now one of the most practical and widely- respected father figures in the city-and in secret (oops), one of the most capable Lords of Waterdeep.
ELMINSTER: Known as 'the Old Mage' to a generation, and the Sage of Shadowdale to the overly-formal, this white-haired, impressively bearded old rogue should need no introduction to Faerunians. One of the Chosen of
